


numb

by HomesickAlien



Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: M/M, the setting is irrelevant, there’s no spoilers just husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:35:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27674110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomesickAlien/pseuds/HomesickAlien
Summary: Everything returns to the palm, the ring of life around the tree, and the mark of a kiss that’s secretly planted upon it.
Relationships: Camus | Erik/Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	numb

**Author's Note:**

> why have i just given up on rating my fics these days.

His groans are disguised beneath the heavy creaking of the old and worn table he settles his head onto. The deeper he shoves his face into his arms, the more it wobbles about uncomfortably, hardly sturdy. Enough so that he wonders if it might collapse to the floor with him if he puts any more weight onto it.

It’s been so long since last they settled down that it’s hard to deny even a disingenuous comfort. He feels a palm against the back of his head that roughly presses him further down the abyss, holding just a moment before sliding through his hair as he passes by. By the slightest shift of the table, Eleven assumes he’s kicked up his feet across from him.

“Gonna make it?”

It’s almost genuine concern, but equally rhetoric, and he only barely receives a grumble in response. If any words were said, they’ve most certainly been muffled by Eleven’s sleeve. One might think that the one who can heal would take better care of themselves, but that’s exactly the thing; Eleven _can_ heal, but he’s not a healer. And gripping his wrist with such a forceful vice tells Erik all he needs to know, some agonies run deeper than superficial wounds. Down every tender tendon of the arms, and each web of nerves that captures. 

“Is it that heavy sword you’re always lugging around?” Erik laughs, and Eleven bangs his hand against the table like admitting defeat, or shaking out the pain with some other useless buzzing. “I thought you were stronger than you looked, but maybe not.”

His voice starts to trail at the end, noting the rustles of Eleven’s head peeping over his arm, just about a glower for even suggesting the hero to be too weak for a greatsword. And Erik laughs a bit too hard about that, a feign of distance between them closed by the clutch of Erik’s fingers beneath Eleven’s own. He raises Eleven’s hand delicately, with a selfish sort of smile he brings Eleven closer; “Here, let me.”

He doesn’t elaborate on _what,_ but the message is understood quickly by the way Erik starts to thumb over the back of Eleven’s hand. His grip is so firm, it sends a shock of initial surprise down the hero’s spine, and then the wave of solace. He let’s a soft breath at such a melodic motion, a pressure that eases away even the deepest rooted pains within the human vassal. 

He closes his eyes to be swept up in that wave, one heavy sigh to set the tempo. Erik flips his hand gently, kneading into his palm with both thumbs now. Eleven’s so indecisive at times, unable to decide whether to show his affection, or further bury his face to keep from showing this bright flush across his cheeks. Whatever sound that comes out is equally awkward, and embarrassing, but at least for once it’s just the two of them. And Erik’s too nice to tease any, sometimes it’s hard to believe him to be a thief at all.

Well, he’s done a good job of stealing the hero’s heart, but that’s…

His hands are too rough; It’s a trait they share in common, but one unbecoming for a prince that’s only known himself to be a prince a short while. It’s both built in callouses, and the tight tense of stress that silently poisons his veins. It almost comes as a shock when Erik pulls down his sleeve, as if to feel the pulse, or map out the path of his body. To pull out the toxins draining him, release him from this worldly clutch of a heavenly burden. Everything returns to the palm, the ring of life around the tree. 

And the mark of a kiss that’s secretly planted upon it. 

It’s terribly humiliating, the sudden squeak from his scratchy throat, heavy as the thick spill of blood. Or wine. Or something of the sort, whatever thoughts he can muster to stay attached to this momentary intimacy both long gone and ubiquitous. A secret everyone knows well and still whispers in hushed tones, like a scandalous rumor that lacks the scandal. Even a single kiss is too much to bear, and anything resembling a declaration of love ought to be thrown out the window like the drying laundry in the rain. 

Scandalous. Without the scandal. 

Erik’s tongue dances down the frozen river of his veins, and Eleven, with hands now devoid of purpose, knows not what to do with it but grip Erik’s hair lovingly. A quiet request for more without the shame of openly begging. Erik accepts with a kiss, with a taste of dirt, and salt, and the weakest bite into the flesh. A lock around Eleven’s wrist that holds all its collective negativity safely by Erik’s hand; More than this… _More…_

And the emptiness it leaves when it’s all released. And Eleven’s hand is falling indelicately down Erik’s neck, rested limp against his lithe shoulder. Erik raises his head with a stern look, lost in the thought, in this lifeless moment beside with pleasure. 

“The other one, too.”

The hero meets Erik with a smirk seen only in his expressive eyes, the slow motion of his opposing hand approaching Erik’s, just to grasp his entire face ravenously by his left palm. The mark that paints his destiny glows warmly with his devotion. 

He pushes Erik’s head back as he starts to laugh, _stop it!!_ As simple with desire as ever, Erik forces himself free with another smug run of his tongue over the hero’s palm. So gross and slimy, the sensation of saliva drizzling down his wrist bothers him enough to let up, but before he can even wipe it off Erik’s already grasping his hand tightly again. Both hands asking to stay, and one kiss over this birthmark, a promise ring.

“I love you.”

He says. Seriously. Gently. Without a care in the world, for yesterday, or today, or tomorrow. Even now, these words barely register in Eleven’s mind. He wants to crawl on the table, and hide away his face in Erik’s chest. Instead, he turns his whole body, getting up as if to run away. 

“You’re so beautiful. I love you.”

He says these things like they carry no meaning, the heaviness as light as smoke trailing cold breath. It’s so genuine, that the hero beckons Erik to follow without honestly meaning to. It’s getting harder and harder to keep from reveling in this shy, quiet feeling. But Erik doesn’t pay any mind to it, he follows along unquestioningly with a kind aura radiating every holy brick of this temple; _I’m the hero. I’m the saviour. I’m the one who’s bringing salvation,_ and yet he can’t compare himself at all to the light Erik leaves him. The loving embrace of his hands around Eleven’s waist, stepping on his toes to leave kisses across the back of Eleven’s neck. 

_Thank the Goddess…_

“Should we take a bath together, before bed?” Erik mumbles against Eleven’s skin, both hands that rest flatly over Eleven’s own. They touch only in demonstration— “The warm water will definitely soothe your hands.” 

He laughs breathlessly, a request that can’t be answered as the heart wishes. There’s truly no shame behind the walls of love, it’s glass is fragile, but every crack is filled with stories of the flowers that bloom overtop. His heart is of a hero that’s always followed in the footsteps of someone greater, of the orders that bring salvation to the world, that just one slip can’t hurt more than the fall. 

_Thank the Goddess that two people whose hands fit perfectly could be fated to meet._

The hero holds Erik’s hand firmly, mimicking the motions prior. He raises Erik’s up to meet his lips, a solemn _yes_ of unspoken agreement, one that Erik fondly cherishes. Suddenly, the world is silent, and suddenly it’s as though nothing could matter more than this. Will She chastise him? He wonders to himself— Would the Goddess lament entrusting the world to a hopeless man in love? 

She could do a little more to help him than these vague pushes forward, but that they’ve come together is blessing enough for a single lifetime.

It’s for these reasons the words always end up caught in his throat, and he can’t say _I love you, too;_ in response. But he can find himself lost in Erik’s embrace, an entanglement of limbs by hot water and rose petals. The worthless flirting of infatuation that slowly becomes interwoven with passionate love. One simple feeling as unique as tides over the beach, each pull of the moon defining it’s mood, and laced with every kiss is this numbing painkiller. 

By morning, it’ll make for an even greater hero.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, comment, be safe as always.


End file.
